


Better Off Solo

by jobasjedis



Series: Better Off Solo [1]
Category: Baby Driver (2017), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Inspired by Baby Driver, Reylo - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-13
Updated: 2018-10-22
Packaged: 2019-08-01 14:16:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16286171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jobasjedis/pseuds/jobasjedis
Summary: Solo is a driver. Not a normal driver either...he's fast. Insanely fast. Inspired by the hit movie Baby Driver, this is a Reylo AU with passion, anger, love, music, and a whole lot of speed.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! I'm new to Ao3, and this is the first fic I've written in years, so don't go too hard on me. I would love constructive criticism though! Let me know what's good, or what can be fixed!  
> Songs used in this chapter are: BOOGIE by Brockhampton and Trouble by Cage the Elephant

_What are the rules for breakfast today?_

The digital numbers on the dashboard click. It’s 9:08. AM.

_What are the words I’m forbidden to say?_

My eyes dart to the rearview mirror. Nothing.

_I need to let my hair down and grow up like a real ass bitch._

I clench the steering wheel, knuckles turning pale.

_A real ass bitch, bitch._

I hear the yelling. It’s faint, but it’s familiar.

_What are the rules for breakfast today?_

9:09. Car in reverse. Foot on the brake.

_What are the word’s I’m forbidden to say?_

“Get ready!” Three sets of feet run towards me.

_I need to let my hair down and grow up like a real ass bitch._

Doors fly open, and bodies tumble inside, panting.

_A real ass bitch, bitch._

9:10. It’s show time.

I slam my foot onto the gas pedal, the car tires screeching as we barrel backwards. I turn the wheel sharply, the car spinning around, gravel kicking up as it does so. Police lights in the rearview mirror. I thrust the gear into forward position. I punch it.

_I’ve been beat up my whole life. I’ve been shot down, kicked out twice. Ain’t no stopping me tonight. Imma get all the things I like. I’ve been beat up my whole life, I’ve been shot down, kicked out twice. Ain’t no stopping me tonight. Imma get all the things I like._

The song continues to play, earbuds dangling from my ears. I swerve in between cars, my speed steadily inclining, the lights still behind me. “They’re hot on us!” Hugo yells from the passenger seat, spit flying from his mustached mouth. I don’t turn my head to look at him. “You hear me, stupid? Fucking go faster!” I clench my jaw and abrasively turn the wheel, flying down an alley way. The lights behind me get confused and miss the turn, but they’ll be back. I turn out of the alley way, getting back onto the highway, cars honking around me. I press down harder on the gas, the engine roaring over the music.

_Who got me riled up? Who the lame ass bitch wanna talk bout us? Ooh, who got me riled up? Who the lame as bitch wanna talk bout us?_

“They’re behind us again!” I hear from the backseat. I veer sideways, barely missing cars, and cross the division, now racing towards oncoming traffic. The police don’t follow my move, but continue to follow next to us. Biting my lip, I quickly spin the car around, smoke billowing from the tires, and begin to drive back towards town. “What the fuck are you doing?!” Hugo yells, leaning up in his seat. “Are you fucking insane?!” I don’t answer him, but watch in the rearview mirror as the police cars try to slam on their brakes, causing a pile up.

_When you see me in the street, the say “Willie, Willie!” When you don’t see me in the street, I’m like a hillbilly. All sad cause nobody wanna suck my willy. Now I’m sad, everybody wanna suck my willy._

With no one trailing us at the moment, I turn off an exit that’s just before town. Hugo laughs, and looks to the backseat. “Hey Jackie, Cliff, this boy might be a mother fucking genius!” he cackles out. Cliff laughs along with him, and I see Jackie roll her eyes, popping her gum rather annoyingly. “We’re gonna be rich baby,” Cliff says to her, an idiotic grin still plastered to his leathery face. He begins to kiss at her neck, which finally causes her to start giggling. I see the parking garage up ahead, and pull in, whipping into a parking spot and slamming the car into park. We all hop out, grabbing the duffel bags and guns, and run towards the black van parked two rows behind us.

_I’ve been beat up my whole life._

I turn the key in the ignition. The worn-out engine stutters to life.

_I’ve been shot down, kicked out twice._

I rub my hands along the steering wheel and take a deep breath. Smells like marijuana.

_Ain’t no stopping me tonight._

I put the car in forward and slowly begin to leave the lot.

_Imma get all the things I like._

Police cars race into the garage, so fast they almost run into each other.

_I’ve been beat up my whole life._

Hugo, Jackie, and Cliff duck in their seats. “Fuck,” Hugo whispers.

_I’ve been shot down, kicked out twice._

“We’re looking for a red Chevy Camaro!” an officer says over a speaker to the others.

_Ain’t no stopping me tonight._

I drive past them, and don’t look in their direction, trying to be as unsuspicious as possible. None of them even look at us, instead they all swarm our abandoned car.

_Imma get all the things I like._

We’re free.

*****

“What’s wrong with him?”

“What’s wrong with who?”

It’s the same conversation every time.

_What’s wrong with him?_

_Is he retarded?_

_Why doesn’t he speak?_

_Is he mute?_

_What’s with the headphones?_

_Can he understand me?_

And every time, and I do mean every single time, Vick pretends he has no idea what they’re talking about.

I turn my music up louder, but not loud enough to where I can’t hear the conversation. Just loud enough to where Hugo can hear the humming and thinks I can’t hear him. Vick knows the drill. Like I said, it’s the same every time.

_We were at the table by the window with the view._

“He drives like a maniac, in a good way, I’ll give him that, but he’s fucking weird. He doesn’t speak and he’s always listening to goddamn music. How can he concentrate with shit blasting in his brain all the time? It seems dangerous. One day he’s gonna fuck up because he can’t hear the sirens or other cars or something. And then he’ll get killed by one of us. Killed because he has to listen to music all the time cause he’s mentally retarded. Wouldn’t it just be easier to hire a kid with all his working parts? Or are you attached to this kid? Is he like the son you never had? Do you feel bad that he’s got no life and a messed-up brain so you keep giving him jobs? Does it make you feel better about all the shitty things you do? That’s not how life works. You can’t do a hundred fucked up things and expect God to forgive you for doing one nice deed,” Hugo spits, his arms waving in the air.

_Trouble on my left, trouble on my right, I’ve been facing trouble almost all my life. My sweet love, won’t you pull me through?_

Vick starts laughing, leaning back in his chair and lighting a cigarette. It glows against his skin in the dim lighting of the garage where we’re gathered, and he takes a long drag of it, coughing a bit as he does so. I don’t know why he still smokes. I mean, I don’t harp on people’s decision to smoke, everyone has free will, hell I even smoke, but he almost died of lung cancer last year. I guess no one makes it out of here alive.

“Hugo, you’re an ass. If you weren’t so damn good at your job I’d kick you out of here right now and you’d be dead by tonight. But sadly, you’re brilliant.” Vick takes another long drag. I haven’t blinked in almost two whole minutes.

_Got so much to lose, got so much to prove, God don’t let me lose my mind._

“Hey, Cliff, Jackie, you want to back me up here? You guys agree the kid is insane, right?” Cliff and Jackie, who have been almost swallowing each other whole the past ten minutes, finally pull away from each other, their lips red and spit in the corners of their mouths. It’s gross really.

“What’s it matter to you if he listens to music? We did the job, we got the money, and nobody got hurt. I’d say it was a huge success,” Jackie says, popping her gum. How is she still chewing that piece of gum?

_Trouble on my left, trouble on my right, I’ve been facing trouble almost all my life. My sweet love, won’t you pull me through._

“He hasn’t blinked in like almost three minutes. He’s insane.” Hugo stands up and walks over to where I’m sitting, leaning down inches from my face. I can feel his hot breath against my cheek, reeking of whiskey and…tuna fish? An odd lunch, but I won’t judge. He rips an earbud out of my ear and puts it into his own.

_Everywhere I look, I catch a glimpse of you. I said it was love and I did it for life._

Hugo grabs my IPod out of my hand, infuriated. “What the hell is this? Trouble by Cage the Elephant? What the hell is that? He’s listening to a goddamn sappy love song. We just robbed a bank, and shot a person that was inside said bank, and he’s listening to a goddamn love song!”

“SIT DOWN!” Vick shouts, standing up and pounding his fist on the table. “I’m done with this conversation! It’s not important! Now, we have a long night ahead of us discussing the next job. We have to get started now or we’ll be behind. And so help me God if I’m late because of you Hugo, I will have you torn limb from limb and strung across a clothes line for your whole neighborhood to see, I don’t care how good you are at your job.” Hugo gulps, and goes to sit back down, his face turning pale. It amuses me. Vick looks over at me. “Solo, go get us our coffee. Make it quick.” I give him a small nod, and stand up, putting the earbud Hugo ripped out of my ear back safely in its rightful spot. Just as I get to the door I stop, and then turn around to look back at them. They all stare at me, blank expressions on their faces.

“Hey Hugo, you really shouldn’t say the R word. It’s a slur, and it’s fucking rude. And for the record, I’m not.”


	2. Car Crashes and Coffee Cups

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! If you're reading this, I really appreciate you! I would love some feedback on what you like or what I can improve, so please leave comments! 
> 
> Songs in this chapter: Vogue by Madonna, My Sweet Lord by George Harrison, Woman by Harry Styles, and Bennie and the Jets by Elton John

_ Look around, everywhere you turn is heartache. It’s everywhere that you go, go round.  _

The city streets are loud with energy, everyone in a hurry to go somewhere that will one day no longer have any importance in their lives. I walk down these same streets, earbuds glued to my ears and hands in my pockets, weaving my way past pedestrians with their eyes stuck on phone screens or their minds in the clouds.

_ You try everything you can to escape the pain of life that you know, life that you know. _

A man talking on his cell very loudly, waving his hands frantically in the air and not paying attention, runs right into me, his shoulder ramming against mine and tripping me up, causing my earbuds to fall and dangle by my side. He doesn’t even turn to look at me, he just keeps meandering down the sidewalk without a care for anyone besides himself. My ears begin to ring, loud and sharp, and I quickly return my earbuds to their rightful place.

_ When all else fails and you long to be, something better than you are today. I know a place where you can get away, it’s called a dance floor, and here’s what it’s for. _

It happened when I was seven. I remember the event as if it was yesterday.

My parents didn’t have a great relationship. Cliche, I know, but I’m just telling the truth. Growing up, Mom always told me she was a dancer, but even then I knew what she really was. Dad worked at an auto shop, doing body work on cars that got busted up. He took care of me most of the time since Mom’s job went on so late into the night, and he was always pretty angry about it.

_ “I work all damn day and then I have to come home and take care of him while you’re out there partying! It’s not fucking fair! I’m not his Mom, why do I have to cook him dinner and give him a bath?!” _

_ “I’m making money for this family, just like you do at the auto shop! I get him ready every morning and make sure he gets to school safely, so don’t give me any of that crap!” _

_ “Making money for the family?! You’re out there being a whore, that’s what you’re doing! Who knows how much money you make in tips that we never even see!” _

I loved my Mom. She had a heart of gold, and one of the best singing voices I’ve ever heard. She used to tell me stories of when she was a kid and how she dreamed of moving to Los Angeles and becoming a famous singer that had hits on the radio. She never told me this to my face, but I knew she never pursued that dream because she got pregnant with me when she was sixteen. She never wanted me to hear her and Dad fight, so every time the yelling would start, she’d hand me her Walkman cassette player and tell me to go in my room and put my headphones on. I don’t remember a night where that Walkman wasn’t in my hand and I got to bed before 3 am.

My Dad and I on the other hand, we barely spoke to each other. He loved to drive, especially when he was upset about something, so most evenings we would just speed down some dead road, classic rock blaring through the speakers of his super beaten up Camaro that he got from a junkyard. He wouldn’t speak, or even sing. He’d just drive, blowing cigarette smoke out the window and never taking his eyes off the road. And there I would be, in the passenger’s seat, watching blurry trees whip past the window and counting the number of times a Van Halen song would play.

It was an October Sunday when it happened. Three days before Halloween to be exact. The air was nice and crisp and the sun was shining bright, so it seemed like a perfect fall day. We were on our way to Coney Island, like we did once a year. It was the only time we ever did something fun as a family, and even then it usually ended with Dad going to wait in the car and Mom being too mad to want to do anything, so we’d end up sitting on a bench eating ice cream for two hours.

Mom and Dad were fighting over who’s turn it was to pay for gas, which now sounds so ridiculous. There was a lot of traffic, so we’d move three feet and then have to sit for ten minutes before moving three feet again. I was in the backseat, that Walkman in my hands, and the bulky headphones struggling to stay on my tiny head. I even remember the song that was playing.

_ My sweet Lord. Mmm, my Lord. Mmm, my Lord. I really wanna see you. Really wanna be with you. Really wanna see you Lord, but it takes so long my Lord. My sweet Lord. _

I don’t even know how it happened. All I know is one minute I was sitting in the back seat, and the next I was lurched forward, the seatbelt almost choking me and forcing me backwards, causing me to slam my head against my headrest. The sound of the crash was the loudest thing I had ever heard in my life, and I remember my Mom shouting my name.

_ I really wanna know you. Really wanna go with you. Really wanna show you Lord that it won’t take long my Lord. _

I ripped the seat belt off of myself and stumbled out of the car, smoke billowing from the now smashed front end. Seeing your parents, completely covered in blood and broken glass, their heads against the dashboard and their eyes rolled back, can really do some damage. The cops arrived not even a minute later.

Everything was kind of a blur after that. They took care of getting my parents out first, and making sure the passengers of the other car were okay, and there was so much chaos around me I just sort of backed up and stood there, them not even noticing me.

_ Hallelujah. Mmm, my Lord. Hallelujah. My sweet Lord. Hallelujah. _

It was a woman paramedic that eventually saw me, frozen from shock.

“Hey, there’s a kid over here!” she shouted, running over to me. “Oh my god, his ears are bleeding!”

I’ve heard ringing ever since.

I got good at driving, probably partly due to Dad, but mainly because of foster care. I hated foster families. Most of the time the couples fostering children were only doing it for the fat check they got sent by the government each month, and instead of spending it on us they’d buy watches and purses and cars while we ate McDonald’s for the fifth night in a row and had shorts two sizes too small. And unlike the other kids, who were usually scarred by some traumatic event from their past and too scared to do anything, I would run. Well, technically I would hotwire cars and drive, but same difference.

It was dumb, cause I’d always get caught. The cars would be returned and they would just label me as a troubled kid, and I’d be sent to a new family, only a few blocks away from the old, and told to try again. And it went on like that until my 18th birthday, where I packed up my drawstring bag of clothes, my Mom’s Walkman, and the thirty seven dollars I had to my name and was kicked onto the street.

Isn’t America great?

Vick found me when--well, that’s another long story not worth getting into now. But here I am, walking up to Starbucks to fulfill my duties. I’m living the dream.

_ I’m selfish I know. _

The line is extremely long, splaying out onto the sidewalk. I check my watch and groan. If I wait in this line, Vick will have a fit. He hates to wait. I took too long picking up his dry cleaning once because the lady that owns the store was stuck in traffic, and I lost pay for a week. He doesn’t play around.

_ But I don’t ever wanna see you with him. _

There has to be another coffee shop around here somewhere. It’s New York for fucks sake. I cross the street, cars honking at me and giving me the bird, and start to jog down the sidewalk, dodging people with very annoyed looks on their faces.

_ Selfish I know. I told you but I know you never listen. _

I’m running, and scanning the shop signs for any hope, panting now because I don’t exercise very often. And guess what? I trip over my own fucking shoelaces and face plant into a store window. A few pedestrians chuckle at me, but no one asks if I’m okay.

_ I hope you can see. The shape that I’m in. While he’s touching your skin. He’s right where I should, where I should be. But you’re making me bleed. _

I push myself off the glass and look up. Hanging above the door is a sign, and painted on it in bright green letters is one word: DINER. How lucky. I turn the doorknob and thrust open the door, and almost immediately I am greeted with the warmest Southern accent that could melt butter and make a heathen turn to God.

“Well hi there, are you dining in with us today sir?”

_ Woman. Woman. La la la la la la la la. Woman. _

She smiles at me, a big smile that makes her hazel eyes crinkle in the corners and the freckles on her nose bunch up. I clear my throat, almost forgetting the reason I walked in there in the first place.

“You sell coffee?” I ask, and then I immediately want to kick myself. Of course they sell coffee, what kind of diner doesn’t sell coffee?

_ Woman. Woman. La la la la la la la la. Woman. _

She giggles a bit and pulls a pencil from out of her bun. “Yeah, we have coffee, just one?” she asks.

_ Woman. _

“Uh, no, make it four. Black,” I answer, and she scribbles something onto her notepad. “You needed to write down four coffees?” I ask, hoping I don’t sound like a total ass. She smiles again and turns the notepad around.

“No, I was drawing a frog.”

“Why a frog?”

“Why not a frog?” I don’t have a comeback for that, and she smiles yet again. I have never seen someone so smiley in my entire life, but I am not complaining one bit. “Well, you can sit down, I’ll have those out for you shortly.”

I choose the nearest booth, with bright red vinyl seats and a mysterious brown stain on the table, and put my earbuds into my pocket. Normal people don’t listen to music constantly, as I’ve been told hundreds of times, and for some reason, I don’t want her to find me weird. She disappears behind doors that I assume lead to the kitchen, and I am left in the empty eating area alone. It smells of grease and burnt toast, and I notice a posse of ants swarming a french fry on the checkered tile floor.

“She’s got electric boots, a mohair suit, you know I read it in a magazine. Oooohooo! B-b-b-b-Bennie and the Jets!”

A sweet voice’s singing trails from somewhere behind those kitchen doors. I stand up and lean to try to see through the tiny circular windows. I can’t see anything, and almost as soon as I do this, the doors swing open and she is back, holding a drink carrier of four coffees. I try to make myself look as if I wasn’t spying.

“Is there anyone else that works here?” I ask, taking the coffees from her.

“Today it’s just me and the cook Randy, why?” she asks, a puzzled look on her face. I shake my head.

“No reason. What do I owe you?”

“Five bucks.”

I pull a twenty out of my pocket and hold it out towards her. “Keep the change.” She gives another quizzical look, but doesn’t say anything as she puts the bill into her apron.

“What’s your name?” she asks, and I’m taken aback. This is the first time I’ve had a conversation with anyone besides Vick in quite some time, so it feels a bit strange.

“Solo.”

We are still just standing in the middle of the restaurant, facing each other. If anyone else walked in right now I’d probably shoot them. I mean, I’d have to own a gun to shoot someone, but that’s not the point.

“Solo? That’s your name? Like the Frank Ocean song?”

“I’ve never heard that song.”

“Well, you should look it up. I think you’d like it.”

We stand there in an awkward silence, just staring at each other, and I really don’t know how to make small talk. She giggles, and I’m suddenly very confused.

“Well aren’t you going to ask me my name?” she asks, her Southern twang bouncing off my eardrums in a way that sends shivers down my spine.

“Oh, well shit, what’s your name?” I ask, and then realize I’m blushing and my ears are burning.

“You’re adorable. I’m Rey. Just Rey. Hey, look, we both only have one name. What a coincidence!”

“Hey Rey, you have a phone call!” a deep voice calls, probably Randy.

“Ooh, I gotta take that, but it was nice meeting you!” she says, smiling once more and turning to walk back through those doors. “She’s got electric boots, a mohair suit, you know I read it in a magazine. Oooohooo! B-b-b-b-Bennie and the Jets!”

“Rey.”


End file.
